


As the Rain Washes Away the Past

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek Hale, Boys Kissing, Buzz Cut Stiles Stilinski, Dancing in the Rain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Rain, Rebuilt Hale House, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, The Hale House, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22693117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles shaves his head and the pack teases him for it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 13
Kudos: 497





	As the Rain Washes Away the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ICU81MI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICU81MI/gifts).



“How much do you want me to shave off?” Erica asked, running her fingers through Stiles’ thick brown hair and smoothing out the soft locks to judge their length.

“All of it,” Stiles said quietly.

He sat on the counter of Derek’s newly-renovated laundry, dressed in an oversized t-shirt—one of Derek’s.

His dark eyes were distant, staring down at the grey slate tiles.

He swung his legs, heels gently thumping against the cupboard.

Erica paused, almost saddened by Stiles’ decision. “Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded slightly.

She let out a heavy sigh and gently ruffled Stiles’ hair affectionately, the way she had for years.

A small smile turned up the corner of Stiles lips as he let out a quiet chuckle, but the smile quickly faded.

“Okay,” Erica said, switching on the hair clippers—the loud buzz of the blades and the whirring motor filling Stiles’ ears. “Let’s do this.”

She brought the buzzing blades to the back of Stiles’ head, letting them glide through Stiles’ soft hair.

Stiles felt the blades glide through his hair, tufts of brown hair falling into his lap.

He felt his heart sink into his gut as he stared down at the strands of hair in his hands.

“What are you going to tell the others when they ask why you shaved your head?” Erica asked, her voice drawing him back to reality.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “I’ll say I lost a bet or something.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Erica nod thoughtfully.

“And the real reason?” she prompted.

Stiles shrugged half-heartedly.

“I just… felt like a change.”

“Right,” Erica said, finishing off the haircut and dusting Stiles down with a soft brush. “Okay, you finish cleaning yourself up and get changed.”

Stiles slid off the counter, running his hands over his shaved head, his heart sinking slightly at the feeling of his buzz cut.

He let out a measured sigh.

He shook out the large t-shirt and stripped it off over his head, tossing it into a wicker wash basket in the corner of the room.

He grabbed his black t-shirt from where he’d set it down earlier. It fit him a lot better, sitting properly on his broad shoulders and accentuating his strong biceps.

He had filled out over the years, growing confident enough to wear clothes that fit him a lot better.

He helped Erica clean up before heading towards the door to go join the others.

“Hey, Stiles,” Erica called after him.

He stopped in the doorway, turning to look back at her.

“No matter what the others say, you’re still very handsome,” she told him, offering him a kind smile.

Stiles smiled in return.

He turned, making his way down the hallway.

Derek had done a good job at restoring the house. The walls were covered in crisp white paint. A few of the support beams that framed the room had been replaced—the large beams weathered, scarred and stained in an effort to match the surviving beans that were burnt, black and distorted like the disfigured body of Atlas bowing beneath an unimaginable weight.

The house smelt of sweet dew and crisp pine trees, tainted by the smell of ash that never seemed to fade.

There were scattered signs of history and new life mingling among the ruins. There were pieces of furniture that had been restores or salvaged, wooden tables with charred legs and warped paint like scars. The walls of the hallways were lined with photos of the Hale family, pictures that Stiles and the pack had helped Derek track down—and new photos; photos of the pack.

Two large windows framed the front door, morning light streaming through them and illuminating the angelic swirl of the sparking particles of dust.

He followed the sound of voices down the hallway to where the rest of the pack was gathered in the living room.

There were two large sofas and two arm chairs, arranged in a circle that faced the fireplace in the centre of the room. Jackson occupied one of the armchairs; Isaac sat in the other, his lanky legs folded under him as he talked quietly with Boyd, discussing his thesis and how his classes were going. Boyd was sitting on one of the sofa, nodding along to the conversation. Derek sat on the other sofa, dressed in a grey-blue Henley and jeans.

Jackson was the first to notice Stiles was standing there. He turned to look at Stiles in the doorway and burst into laughter.

The others turned to look.

“You look like you did in high school,” Isaac remarked rather bluntly.

Something about that comment made Jackson laugh even harder.

Stiles felt his chest tighten, his stomach twisting in knots as hot tears pricked at his eyes.

He _felt_ like he did back in high school; shamed, judged and humiliated.

Their gazes bore into him, tearing him to pieces.

“Jackson,” Derek said, his voice firm and authoritative.

Jackson’s laughter died away. He straightened in his chair, drawing in a deep breath as he tried to compose himself.

“Isaac’s right,” he said. “You look like you did back in high school.” There was a beat of silence. A grin turned up the corners of Jackson’s lips as he added, “You also look like Mr Clean.”

He burst into a fit of laughter again.

Stiles rolled his eyes, turning away from Jackson.

He met Derek’s gaze for a second, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed the look of worry and thought that darkened his hazel eyes.

“Can we call you cue ball now?” Jackson asked.

“Jackson,” Derek growled warningly, his eyes flashing red for a second.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said. “Let him get it out of his system.”

“I think he looks handsome,” Erica said, stepping over to Stiles’ side and pressing a kiss to his cheek before clambering over the back of the sofa and curling up against Boyd’s side.

“I agree,” Boyd said.

He narrowed a threatening glare on Jackson.

“And if you have a problem with buzz cuts—” His eyes lighting up gold. “—you can say it to my face.”

Jackson swallowed hard, sitting back in his arm chair and falling silent.

“That’s what I thought,” Boyd muttered, the glow of his eyes fading as he sat back, his harsh eyes still fixed on Jackson.

“It’s alright, guys,” Stiles said, his soft voice calming as it broke the tension in the room. “Jackson’s just mad he can’t look this good.”

The pack burst into laughter as Jackson looked at Stiles with an exaggerated look of shock and offence.

Stiles sat down at the other end of the couch that Derek was sitting on, crossing his legs under himself.

The pack settled, returning to whatever they were talking about before Stiles came into the room.

Stiles didn’t join in. He let his mind wander as he listened to the conversation, simply enjoying their company.

They had all split up and went their separate ways when they went to college, but they had made a tradition of spending the holidays at Derek’s house.

With every term that passed, they had watched the alpha rebuild his house—repairing the damage the fire had left.

The last time they were here, the outside of the house looked like a patchwork quilt; pale strips of fresh pine stood out against the withered ash-grey wooden panels and the charred black siding. Now, the siding had been painted white, accentuating the dark wood of the window frames and shutters.

It seemed that the more he repaired the house, the more Derek came to terms with what happened. He wasn’t living in ruins anymore; he had his home back.

After a while, Stiles stood up, heading through the open doorway across the hallway and into the kitchen to get a drink.

He pulled open the fridge and grabbed a can of soda, a quiet shuffle of footsteps following him into the kitchen. He shut the fridge door and looked up at Derek.

The man leant against the counter across from the fridge, his arms folded over his chest as he looked at Stiles inquisitively.

“Why did you shave your hair?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“I just felt like a change,” Stiles answered.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Derek said softly.

Stiles let out measured breath.

He should have known better than to try and lie to Derek.

“I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror,” Stiles admitted. “Every time I did, I could swear I was looking at him.”

“Who?” Derek asked.

Stiles bowed his head. He didn’t say anything.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, trying to prompt an answer.

“The Nogitsune,” he said, still not looking up at Derek.

Derek stiffened, his hazel eyes darkening as he looked at Stiles—heartbroken by his words.

“I know he’s gone,” Stiles said. “I know it’s all over, but there’s part of me that wonders if he’s really gone or if—”

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, it was like I was looking at him…”

His voice trailed off, tears welling in his eyes. His vision blurred into streaks of colour and light. He sniffed as he blinked back his tears.

“Stiles,” Derek started, his voice soft.

“I know I look bad,” Stiles said. “I just needed to look different. I needed to break the illusion.”

“I don’t think you look bad,” Derek told him.

Stiles looked up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. His heart skipped a beat as he met the man’s gaze.

Derek looked at him lovingly, his pale aventurine eyes clear and bright.

“I think you look great,” Derek said, the corner of his lips turning up in a soft smile.

“I look like I did when I was sixteen,” Stiles scoffed.

“You look like you did when we first met.”

The thought hadn’t struck Stiles until that moment.

Derek was right; he looked like he did the day they met in the woods—only older.

“And I still feel the same way about you as I did back then,” Derek said.

“Like you want to kill me for trespassing?” Stiles asked.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle.

“No,” he said. He bowed his head as a soft pink blush coloured his cheeks. “More like… I want to kiss you.”

Stiles stared at Derek, stunned.

He waited, half expecting Derek to burst into laughter and say he was joking. But he didn’t.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, his mind reeling with thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just pretend I never said anything.”

He turned to walk back out of the kitchen.

“I want to kiss you too,” Stiles blurted out.

Derek turned back to look at him.

“Sorry, that sounded weird,” Stiles said, bowing his head.

He drew in a deep breath, trying to compose his thoughts.

“I like you too,” he admitted.

Derek seemed shocked to hear that.

“I never said anything because I was scared I was going to mess up everything like I always do.”

“That’s not true,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles scoffed at that. “Yeah, it is.” He let out another sigh. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to end up hurting you.”

Derek’s eyes softened as he stepped over to Stiles’ side. He gently cupped Stiles’ face in the palms of his hands and brought their lips together.

The kiss was gentle and tender, making Stiles melt in Derek’s arms.

His eyes fluttered shut and his hand slid up the front of Derek’s Henley, balling the soft, worn cotton into his hand

Derek slowly pulled back, resting his forehead against Stiles’.

“You could never hurt me,” Derek whispered.

Stiles opened his eyes, looking up into the pale aventurine depths of Derek’s loving gaze.

Derek brushed the ball of his thumb across Stiles’ cheek, wiping away the tear that escaped his lashes.

A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips.

He brought his lips to Stiles’ again.

Stiles let out a weak sigh as he melted into the tender kiss. He ran his hand up the front of Derek’s shirt and looped his arm around his neck, weaving his fingers through Derek’s soft hair.

Derek’s hands settled on Stiles’ waist, pulling him closer and enveloping him in his warmth.

He drew back slowly.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips.

Derek chuckled against his mouth as he brought their lips back together again. 

“It’s raining!” Erica shouted with delight from the other room, interrupting them.

Seconds later, they heard the front door open as the rest of the pack ran out onto the front porch.

Stiles chuckled, untangling himself from Derek’s arms and heading towards the door.

“What is it with Erica and rain?” Derek asked, perplexed.

Stiles shrugged. “I have no idea. Come on.”

He and Derek followed them out onto the porch, the heavy rainfall drumming on the roof over their heads. The wooden steps were soaked, the wood darkened by the water and the front yard

They watched as Erica and Isaac ran out into the falling rain, turning their faces towards the sky and smiling as the droplets fell against their skin.

They were soaked in seconds; Erica brushing aside the strands of long blonde hair that clung to her skin and Isaac raking his fingers through his limp curls to push them back from his face. Both of them were in thralls of laughter.

Boyd stood under the cover of the porch, chuckling quietly at the sight of his girlfriend dancing in the rain.

Jackson stood beside him, watching on with a look of confusion.

“What’s wrong, Jackson? Afraid to get your hair wet?” Stiles teased.

Jackson shot him a look. He opened his moth to make a snarky remark but he stopped himself, his eyes flicked from Stiles’ face to the top of his head as his retort died in his throat.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, flashing a coy smirk.

Derek and Boyd bowed their heads, trying to hide their smirks and smother their laughter.

Stiles stepped past him, casually walking down the front steps and into the rain.

He drew in a deep breath, the smell of ash and charred wood fading away as the sweet scent of petrichor rolled in; the rain washing away the past.

He turned back, his dark eyes finding Derek’s as a smile found its way onto his lips.


End file.
